


violent thoughts will never leave

by supremely sin-tastic (I_Am_Not_A_Robot)



Category: Escape from Furnace - Alexander Gordon Smith
Genre: Book 3: Death Sentence, Gen, I just finished the 3rd book and I loved it!!, It probably killed all of us tbh, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Self-Reflection, Spoilers, Violent Thoughts, book 2 actually killed me, can somebody please hug him in a way that isn’t “we’re never going to see each other again”, for my poor baby Alex Sawyer, so I immediately had to go write some mental suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 21:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Not_A_Robot/pseuds/supremely%20sin-tastic
Summary: Inner ramblings, anxious thoughts, and violent urges bubble up. Technically, Alex is outside of Furnace. He’s physically not there.But he can’t truly be free.Not when he feels as awful as he does.





	violent thoughts will never leave

**Author's Note:**

> hoooo this is all over the place. i’ll probably rewrite it someday.

The corridors leading to the warden’s quarters might have felt like death was in the air, but now Alex deeply finds himself understanding that there are many ways that something can feel like death. That hallway was cold, assessing, something that tries to drag you in with freezing chains. A coffin, waiting.

Now, Alex himself feels like death. But it’s hot, and sick, and painful.

That hallway hurt his mind, but at least he wasn’t slipping away.

This hurts his body and soul, and is trying to shatter his sense of self.

Having bandages on his eyes was both a blessing and a curse. As long as they were there, the changes done to his body was minimal, right? It was just his eyes that those freaks had tampered with, turned into two calculating silver coins.

And back then, he wasn’t forced to sit through hours of violence that stuck to the walls of his skull and sat there like rot in his brain, replaying and projecting these sick deeds into his immediate vicinity. Back then, he didn’t have to watch himself struggle to find the videos immoral. Back then, he wasn’t smiling at the thought of tearing his parents apart, of crushing people under his heel and committing murders so atrocious that the Alex before all this— the one that was still robbing houses— would have probably gotten nauseated.

But no, the bandages had only been temporary, and for a short, terrible time Alex’s imagination was filled with death, enough that he began to feel like it himself. He could be the executioner of the weak, he could embody the power and immortality of a deity, he could be the one in control.

The surgeries came next. And with each one Alex felt a little more powerful, a little more in control (how funny, knowing that he wasn’t in control— Warden Cross was), but buried deep inside he felt a little more lost. That voice was covered by the gunshots and screams echoing in his ears at all hours of the day. He couldn’t wait to get free and tear everyone he knew apart...

Alex shudders, remembering the time when he looked his own friend in the eye and thought nothing but what the starry darkness inside him told him to think about: nothing but torture and death and violence. He was straining against his chains, waiting to hurt Zee. Wanting to rip thoseskinny arms off. Tear his throat out. Snap those twig bones in half—

_No, no! He can’t think about that again. He just can’t, because sooner or later he won’t want to stop—_

Now isn’t the time for that, because now Zee is here, and Simon, and all three of them are free. Everything’s almost okay for now. It’s raining. They’re free. _They’re free._

But Zee’s the only normal one left. He shouldn’t feel jealous, he shouldn’t...

Well, Alex only feels like death. Not human, not anymore. The stitches in his skin paint a different picture. The blood on his hands— Toby, Donovan, even those berserkers and those blacksuits and the other Toby, his friend from before and Ozzie (oh God, Ozzie)— they’re all dead because of him. How many people has he killed? People who used to be kids just like him, they’re all dead. And he will not, he _will not_ think about _how good it felt to kill_— 

Zee looks at him, tears in his eyes, because he’s happy. And the smaller boy tries to pat his arm, but winces slightly. Oh, yeah. Alex’s flesh is too warm, too hot to the touch. There are too many muscles, and he’s surprised he hasn’t gotten hideously infected by now. Guess the nectar fought the bacteria for him. Just another testament to his abandoned humanity.

But yeah, between his patched up body and his broken mind, Alex fears he might carry that same feeling of death everywhere he goes. Fears those violent thoughts will never let him go. Fears the swirling liquid in his veins, the evil memories and visions brought with them, the nightmares, the horror, everything it signifies... Alex fears it will never be gone.

The nectar may be running out, but it’s not the only cause of his broken thoughts. Alex wants to blame it on the nectar, wants to believe that once he goes through withdrawal everything will be alright again (as much as a monster can be alright), but if he’s being honest with himself, Alex knows that the prison will never leave.

Even if he’s technically free, the dark past of Furnace will always be there, inside, hitching a ride in his corrupted body.


End file.
